


Embers

by HiddenDirector



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Making Out, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenDirector/pseuds/HiddenDirector
Summary: A collection of NSFW stories about Lance and George from their history together. Smoldering tales of their kindling relationship within the walls of the Library, from the first few months after the First Princess Rebellion fell onward.
Relationships: George/Lance (She-Ra)
Kudos: 7





	Embers

**Author's Note:**

> These have been on my mind for a while, but I want to keep my other content involving Lance and George SFW. So this will be a place for all of the NSFW stuff for them. It may not necessarily be in chronological order, but I'll try to indicate when they all happen to keep them from getting confusing.
> 
> The first one is pretty tame for NSFW, but they'll get steamier after this.

Things had settled into a routine, and George wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. It wasn’t that he disliked being in the Library anymore. No, since they came to an understanding, he and Lance got on fine.

Not that Lance ever had a problem with George. The former soldier was pretty sure Lance was incapable of having a problem with anyone. He could probably woo Hordak with his charmingly upbeat and friendly personality if given a chance.

George was the one with a problem. It was a hard thing to admit, so caught up in his own self-pity he was. Weeks spent acting like an asshole to this kind man who saved his life, and all for what? Sometimes he wondered if fate sent him here, dropped him in front of this Library full of things that filled him with nothing but bad memories, to test him. Made him spend time with someone so sheltered and ignorant of the atrocities of the war that had just ended with the Horde winning so he would have to question everything that happened to himself.

It was what had made him so angry at first. Why did George have to suffer through war, through watching people die, through returning home to discover everyone he loved was dead? Why did he have to go through it all when someone like Lance existed who knew _nothing_ of those horrors?

And then he broke the vase.

That was the moment George realized he wasn’t brought here to suffer more. He was brought here because Lance needed healing as much as George did. A sheltered, soft upbringing didn’t make his pain any less significant.

_“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize how much this was hurting you…”_

George was the one who did something wrong. He was the one who spat in the face of Lance’s kindness, of his willingness to help an injured stranger without question. He was the one who broke the vase, something priceless and rare, knowing that Lance treasured not only its personal history but what it meant for his family.

George was the one who did it knowing it would hurt Lance, yet the librarian was the one who apologized.

It had been over three months ago now, but George still mulled over it. One more thing to feel guilty about. This one was entirely his fault, though. Unquestionably and embarrassingly. The fact that even then, even with that act of pettiness, Lance still never got angry only made it worst.

Yet, at the same time, it made George feel better. Was that even possible? To feel simultaneously better and worst about oneself?

“George?”

The man in question looked away from the window he sat at, looking out at the peaceful morning scenery of the Whispering Woods. “Morning, Lance,” he smiled as the librarian walked over and sat down on the windowsill next to him.

“Good morning,” Lance replied cheerfully. He held a book to his chest, title unreadable to George. It was written in First Ones, which only reinforced George’s opinion that Lance was the smartest person on the planet. How many people could read First Ones at _any_ level at the age of nineteen? “Did you already eat breakfast?”

“I did,” George nodded. He then teased, “I would’ve invited you, but I’m pretty sure that was the first time you slept in a week.”

“It was not,” Lance huffed. There was something funny about the fact that he never got annoyed with George until the former soldier started treating him as kindly as he deserved. “How would you even know? You go to bed and wake up so early.”

“Structure keeps me sane,” George chuckled. “You can take the man out of the army, but you can’t take the army out of the man.”

Lance tilted his head to the side. This was one of the things that he lacked even a fundamental understanding of. How could he? All alone in his Library for the last four years, he was his own boss. No one to tell him when or how to do things. He marched to the beat of his own drum, as Micah would have said.

Sometimes George thought Lance reminded him of Micah. Not entirely, there were a lot of pronounced differences. But they were both very cheerful, friendly men. Both strove to always do the right thing, even at a personal loss.

Both put up with George’s grumpy ass as if there wasn’t a stick shoved up it.

Yes, George knew. He knew that his strict attitude could drive people away. How could he not? His own family had always told him that he needed to loosen up, and they owned a farm. The strict structure was a part of farm life. He was working on it, though. He had to learn that in the Library, there was a different normal than he was used to. Lance ruled this domain, and George had to respect that.

“What are you reading?” George asked when Lance didn’t seem to have an answer to that. That was rare, as Lance seemed to have something to say about… everything.

That made Lance smile again, and he held the book up. “Architectural techniques used by the early First Ones,” he answered excitedly. “Most people don’t realize it, but there are actually at least twenty-six differences in how they built their structures between the earliest known buildings and when they disappeared. Did you know some of the tools we use for architecture in the modern day are actually the same ones they used during their middle-period? It was the time when they were concentrating more on manual tools than technological ones. It’s commonly believed that there was a gap in the middle of their civilization in which they didn’t have access to the advanced technology we’ve come to know them for. A Dark Age in First Ones history, so to speak.”

George found himself smiling the more Lance talked. It was one of the things he came to accept while staying at the Library. Birds sang, grass grew, and Lance lectured about the First Ones. “I didn’t know any of that,” he said, though he felt like he didn’t have to. No one knew as much about the First Ones as Lance did, but listening to how excited he got about it made him want to learn. Some people talked about it back home, but no one made it actually sound as appealing as Lance did.

Lance gasped, suddenly standing up. “I’ll get my notes! The Dark Age is such a fascinating subject, especially since most of it is completely theoretical!” He put the book down in his spot, running to the stairs. He skipped steps as he ascended them in his hurry, tripping once but recovering so quickly that it was as if it hadn’t even happened.

George laughed. How could he have ever disliked Lance? The man was a bundle of joyful energy. His smile lit something inside of George that he thought had died with the Rebellion.

_“Love lights a fire inside of you. It starts as an ember, but they’ll fan it into a flame if you let them.”_

George blinked at the thought. It was something Micah had told George once.

George had been teasing the king about his relationship with Queen Angella. Perhaps he shouldn’t have made his dislike for Micah’s wife known. If anyone else spoke about her that way, they would have been reprimanded at best, suspended from duty at worst. But George and Micah had grown to be the closest of friends while they fought in the Rebellion. They were comfortable enough with each other that they teased each other about their love lives. Well, George teased Micah about his marriage to a woman he couldn’t see a single appeal in. How did a man like Micah end up married to a woman like Angella? He was so friendly, and she was… not. Micah, in turn, teased George about his lack of a love life. George was just perpetually single, and he, at times, resigned himself to the fact.

_“Love isn’t rational, George. It hits you where you least expect it and leaves you breathless. When you love someone, you see in them something no one else can.”_

George looked up at the second floor, where Lance was humming while he gathered up… whatever he was doing. Was that really what was happening right now? It was hard to believe it. They’d known each other for almost four months, and most of the first of those George couldn’t stand the librarian. Well, that was probably not entirely true. George didn’t hate Lance even back then. He hated himself, and he pushed that onto the kind man who insisted on not reflecting that.

As Lance hurried back down, holding at least five books in his arms, George watched the long strides of his equally long legs. Everything about Lance was long. His legs, his arms, his waist, his hair. It made him ridiculously tall, which should have been intimidating. But who could ever be intimidated by Lance? His face was equally as beautiful as it was masculine, something George didn’t know was possible. His body was lean and fit for his comfortable lifestyle, which said good things about how well he took care of it. Unsurprising, as George rarely saw him sit still.

George was starting to think he was undoubtedly attracted to Lance. He didn’t know if it was love. A physical attraction was more likely at the moment, something he wasn’t unfamiliar with. He could remember nights spent fooling around with a couple of the boys from his village when they started to discover each other’s bodies. Well, a couple of the boys and one girl. She was the experimental one, and it had ended with awkward laughing and a realization from both that they most certainly didn’t feel attracted to each other’s genders. They then agreed to never speak of it again, as they were both embarrassed by what they’d tried.

As George thought of these things, he watched Lance jog over, dropping the books with the original one. “I have so many theories myself about what happened during the Dark Ages. Which one should I start with?” he said, oblivious to the turn of George’s thoughts. He picked up one of the books, this one a notebook full of his handwriting. He flipped through the pages as he sat down next to George again, humming in thought.

George let him lose himself in thought, finding himself realizing that Lance probably never had the opportunities George did. The librarian had never left the Library, and the few people who visited were always there on business. They were all much older than Lance as well, people who had been coming when his parents ran the Library. The idea of any of them helping a naïve young man like him explore his sexuality was disgusting. Even as a hypothetical situation, it made George’s blood boil. He knew there were people out there who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of someone as soft and trusting as Lance. And as sheltered to the intentions of others as he was, Lance would probably not even realize it was happening.

“George?”

The older man blinked out of his thoughts, looking up at Lance. The librarian was looking at him worriedly. “What?” he asked dumbly, realizing he’d tuned the other man out.

“Are you alright? You look upset,” Lance said, lowering his book and turning to face the former soldier. “Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry, I-”

“No, you’re not… it wasn’t you,” George cut him off before Lance could start into a stream of apologies for something he didn’t do again. “My mind just started wandering is all.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, was I boring you?” Lance asked sincerely. If anyone else had asked it, they would’ve been defensive, passive-aggressive. Used it as a weapon and shield. But the words from Lance were honestly worried.

A lifetime of isolation had left Lance unsure of how to interact with people on length. George was the longest he’d been around anyone since his parents disappeared, and even before that said parents were the only ones he spent any time with. As friendly as he was, Lance was in constant terror of his own lack of knowledge in social graces.

“No, no, it wasn’t you,” George repeated, reaching out and putting a hand on Lance’s face. He was trying his best to be reassuring. “You’re fine. It’s me.”

Lance still looked unsure, but he finally nodded.

George smiled, hoping it would encourage the other man to do the same again. It seemed to work, as Lance’s lips finally pulled up into a self-conscious smile.

George felt his heart skip. Oh, yes, that was definitely an attraction. What a beautiful man, both in body and spirit. He found himself staring at the softly smiling lips and getting the urge to taste them.

“George…?” Lance’s voice came out lighter this time. The sound reached George’s heart, but the shapes Lance’s lips made saying his name hit his groin.

This wasn’t good. George needed to excuse himself. He needed to leave before he did something stupid. Something he was becoming angry at the idea of others doing even hypothetically.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” George found himself asking instead. He was still watching Lance’s mouth, hand running down the librarian’s whisker-dusted cheek to thumb at his bottom lip softly.

“I… what?” Lance asked in confusion.

Etheria, George should stop now. Before he scared the younger man.

“Have you ever kissed?” he repeated instead.

Lance didn’t answer for a moment, and George could see his dark cheeks reddening. Wow, that only made him look prettier. The silence made George think that he did precisely what he feared, though. That Lance’s sheltered upbringing was making him clam up in the face of such intimacy. However, he finally said, “No.”

George smiled at the word. Why did that make him happy? No… he knew why.

“Can I kiss you?” the former soldier asked, finally looking up at Lance’s eyes.

“I…” Lance looked so unsure. This was a huge leap for him, George was sure. To go from finally having someone just to talk to and share his world with, to being asked if he could be touched intimately. His eyes were a storm of conflicting emotions. He was afraid, yes. And if he said no, George would stop. He wanted to touch Lance, but he didn’t want to do as he feared others would. He didn’t want to take advantage of his naiveté and kindness to get something he wanted. Finally, though, he answered, “Yes.”

“Are you sure?” George asked, hearing the hesitation there. “You can say no, and I won’t think less of you.” He had to be sure Lance knew that. He knew that there was a fear inside of the librarian that George would be upset. That he’d be alone again. “If you want me to stop, I’ll still be here. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to.”

Lance made a shuddering sound as he breathed out, eyes turning away a moment. Just his eyes, though, he didn’t turn his head away. Perhaps he was afraid that George would stop touching his face so gently if he did so. After a moment, he looked back at George and said, “I want you to.”

It was all George needed to hear. He pushed himself forward, hand moving from Lance’s face to the back of his neck. His lips connected with Lance’s, and it was like Micah had said. The softness of Lance’s lips, the surprised little sound he made even though he gave permission. The sweet smell of the facial soap Lance used in the morning and the taste of tea on his mouth.

The fire that had started was starting to spread throughout him.

Lance, for his part, was obviously wholly unsure what to do. He didn’t pull away, didn’t stop George even for a moment. He was hesitant, though, and his hands hovered just over George’s shoulders, almost afraid to touch him. George would’ve thought he had still done this out of a sense of isolated obligation if not for the small sounds Lance made as George kissed him again. And again. They were almost inaudible if not for the fact that George was literally right up against the librarian. But they certainly weren’t sounds of fear or revulsion.

George had only meant to kiss Lance, to share a hallmark moment with the younger man. But Lance tasted so good, and the sounds he made were so needy. They verbalized in their tiny way what Lance couldn’t put into words. The former soldier pushed forward, having to pull himself onto his knees to angle Lance’s head comfortably. That height difference wasn’t helping, but it wasn’t unsolvable. He pushed Lance against the wall of the window sill, devouring his mouth as best he could. The hand not digging into Lance’s long dreadlocks planted on the wall over the librarian’s head, steadying them as George opened his mouth. He pushed his tongue against Lance’s lips, and after a moment, they parted, allowing him to dive inside.

George could feel his pants tightening as the blood rushed from his head to his groin. Etheria, Lance was an addicting flavor, as sweet as sugar and heady as sex. George couldn’t remember any of the men he’d messed around with before being this delicious. It helped that those tiny sounds were starting to escalate into full moans, Lance’s hands finally finding purchase. His long fingers tangled into the back of George’s shirt as he finally started to kiss back.

And that was when a loud gurgling sound interrupted them.

Lance gasped, letting go of George’s shirt and planting his hands on the former soldier’s chest, quickly pushing him away.

George stared at Lance in confusion. Was that... his stomach?

Oh. Oh, right, Lance hadn’t eaten breakfast.

Lance stared at George wide-eyed, hands clasped in front of his chest. He looked far sexier than he had a right to; dark features flushed deep, wide eyes still clouded with desire, glasses skewed and hair a mess of disarrayed dreadlocks. His lips were red and swollen, parted as he panted deeply. When he’d pushed George away, he pulled his legs up in front of himself. George could guess what he was trying to hide if he was turned on even half as much as George had been.

“I… I should…” Lance said hoarsely, though he seemed afraid to move. As embarrassed as he obviously was by how much he’d enjoyed that, George didn’t blame him.

“Get some breakfast?” George finished for him. He decided to speak as casually as he could, not wanting to spook the already flustered librarian by making a big deal of what just happened. “Good idea. I’m going to go clean myself up.” He stood up and looked at the mess of books they knocked on the floor. Whoops. “Would you like me to pick these-”

“No!” Lance cut him off, putting his hands up as if to stop him. “I… I can do it! I mean, I know where they go, so… I just… I need a…” He trailed off again, looking at the floor as he straightened his glasses back out.

“I understand,” George smiled. He turned and headed towards the hall that separated the Library from the home behind it. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Lance just nodded and watched owlishly as George went through the door, closing it behind himself. The soldier then sighed, leaning his forehead on the door. Etheria, he was still hard. ‘Clean up’ was basically code for him needing to go relieve himself. He hadn’t expected what was just supposed to be a kiss of curiosity to turn into that.

He meant it when he said he needed to talk to Lance later. They couldn’t ignore what just happened. They needed to decide what this meant for them if he was going to keep staying at the Library. And especially what it meant if he ever intended to leave.


End file.
